Sometime before George Mallory made his third, final, and fatal attempt at the summit of Mt. Evererst a journalist asked him why try to climb the world's tallest peak. His laconic reply: "because it's there.” I think about that quote when I think about my friend Josh.
Several summers ago, Josh and I loaded up in my 2003 Toyota Tacoma for a two month road trip. We drove across the United States and then up the spine of the Rockies from New Mexico to Wyoming. The funny thing is Josh and I met maybe a month before that and had hung out at the local climbing gym at most three times during that span. I specifically remember one of those times being while he was working behind the gym’s front counter.
Here's what I knew about Josh at the start of our trip:
(1) he enjoyed climbing long, steep, athletic sport climbs
(1a) he never shut up about the Red River Gorge
(2) he was friends with my friend Jamie
(3) he was willing to quit his job at the gym, pile into a truck, live on the road, and swap belays for an entire summer with a dude he met at the climbing gym a month ago.
Like Everest, Josh was there. And like Mallory's last trip up that mountain, Josh and I's relationship could have gone terribly. We didn't really know each other. We didn’t have to get along. We didn’t have to fill 13 hour driving days with conversation. We didn’t have to complement each other’s climbing styles or keep each other psyched. We didn’t have to become friends. But we did.
Since then, we’ve sumitted mountains, climbed a few classic routes, climbed endless amounts of choss, ran a 50K, and drove countless hours together. We've talked about everything from theology, spirituality, and politics to relationships, student loans, and health insurance all interspersed by a sparing amount of bathroom humor. Last summer, Josh was in my wedding.
Here’s what I’ve learned about Josh over the years: he is the ideal climbing partner — spontaneous, safe, and psyched. And he's an even better friend. He is a good man with a good heart. He feels things deeply and he loves others genuinely. He knows why he thinks and believes the things that he does and he seeks and explores the things which he does not. Except for the glaring exception of never buying a trad harness, he is willing to change. He is dedicated and determined. Josh does not meet a stranger. He is one of the easiest to talk to people I have ever met and I frequently watch with awe as he seamlessly engages with the folks around him. And despite his inability to promptly return text messages and phone calls, he is fiercely loyal. He's my friend.
In February, Josh and I planned on climbing 29 pitches to celebrate Leap Day but instead we stayed up late the night before, slept in, climbed some routes, drank coffee in between pitches, and talked. It'll likely be the last time we share a rope together for a long time. This spring, Josh moves out west as a travel nurse. But even if I never climbed another rope length again, I’d give thanks to climbing for having made me meet him.
That's my friend Josh.